It seems that none of my ideas with which to begin blogging are sticking. I was so excited to give it a shot, not having attempted a blog since the livejournal years. But everyone knows that when you're fifteen and you have a livejournal, all one can expect from the individual is possibly whinging and whining. Maybe some lyrics or a poem or two about angst and depression.
Don't get me wrong. Because I did all that. It felt nice to have something to rant on. And there are some pretty funny entries in it.
But I need a fresh start.
Hey everyone. My name is Brooke and I know the likelihood of picking up readers straight away is, um, not much. But I'm keen to give it a burl.
Now, I just need to know how to progress from the angsty writings of the nether years to something that people want to read. How do I do that?
Um. Um. Um. Okay.
As a kid, I used to play outdoors sports a lot more. One of my favourites was soccer.
Back in the days when it was called soccer, all the kids from my Sunday School would congregate in the grassed yard after church. There was usually a soccer ball nearby, and all the tact of under 10's soccer, en masse. That is, there would be roughly thirty kids ranging in ages from about seven to twelve, all running after the soccer ball. Forget positioning - the only guy that held his post was the goalie, standing between the goals marked by shoes of a willing donor. There was no half-time, start or finish. Or distinguished teams for that matter. I'd run up to someone and say "who needs more teammates?"
As with all these things, they usually seem more glamorous than they really were. But churchyard soccer was awesome. There was just one factor that played into my eventual denial of the sport.
Any game you played as a child, usually involved projectiles, because that was the only way it could be fun. This had the occasional casualty - a ball to the arm, butt, leg, gut, head.
I was that kid.
Sure, soccer can be awesome, but there was always an element of fear in it, as though any minute I would receive a ball to the eye, usually from an unperceived angle.
This is where my blog name comes from, since the stage when the ball was the most dangerous was when it had 'Gone Aerial'. For those brief seconds, I would cower, certain that I would receive the brunt force of the soccer ball, and along with it the mob that follows unstructured soccer.
I don't play soccer nowadays, but my fear of airborne projectiles of any size remains pretty steadfast.
How do you write a blog, anyway?